Color My World
by farxaway
Summary: A tale of finding what all of us needs once in a while, a little inspiration.


The porcelain canvas sat naked infront of my motionless body. The heavy lids that concealed my amber eyes squinted tighter together in response to my furrowed eyebrows. The darkness that concealed my vision held my ambition to unroot the hidden inspiration that was abstruse to me. Incompetence to divulge the inspiration I scoured for, I aversed to open my eyes, but settled with defeat and exposed my brown irises to the urbane room. My orbs scanned the emotionless fabric seeking to form the nonexistant formations.

The rattling air conditoner pushed out a frigid breeze. The lingering wintery air pricked my skin. My glare peeled away from the canvas to the numerous pictures that clung to the unembellished walls. The superannuatd room's atmosphere was not endulged with the stimulation I craved.

The June wind was light as it danced down the streets of New York City. I breathed in, savoring the scent of a sweet aroma. Within my hand, a notebook was secured with its metal spiral detaining a wooden pencil. A light tan bag clung to my shoulder, protecting my art supplies. The street lights twinkling, the impatient cars, and the soaring skyscrapers failed to flourish the creative sparks.

I treaded into my preferred coffee house. The pungent fragerance of roasted coffee beans wafted through the condensed air into my nostrils. The cashier had a baffled expression smeared over her face. I envisioned her as an affectionate, stong-headed woman. She was a petite female whose long auburn hair draped along her backside.

The delicate hands of the waitress delivered the searing, hot beverage to the table I was positioned at. The steam that arisen from the coffee brushed against my smooth skin and traveled to my open nostrils. The caffinated liquid flowed down my throat as I poured the substance passed my pale, thin lips. My gaze averted to the open scenery that the window held. I focused on the people occupying the rough pavement. Most walked in a rushed, quickened pace to avoid being trampled on by the humans dwelling behind them. The agendas of the day memerized by their brains are being reviewed and checked every hour until their numb minds surrender into the darkness that is sleep. Children wander with imagination and hope, obliviant to the hate that engulfs the society. They are the innocent individuals. Adulthood will arrive at their doors in a blink of an eye. Their childish souls will evolve. The adults yearn to take a step back and revisit their past. The past that holds their carefree, irresponsible selves that did not fret about surving, but instead about living.

My thoughts disintegrated with the sound of the impatient sirens of the police car wailing as it rushed down the street. I watched the red and blues of the siren swirl together in unison. I sighed heavily with disappointment.

The race between the other walkers and I began as I strolled out of the neighborly shop. The wave of drowning inspiration had yet to crash over me and pull me down into the depths of its vast beauty. My stride developed into a slow hault. Before me, a young man sat with a torn accordian. The ragged instrument was far from in its best condition. I enjoyed the flow of notes that dispersed from the musical toy. The soothing rhythm was a mellow beat that washed away worries and unhappiness. The tune danced around my ear until it slowly died out.

A local vendor stood motionless at his cart. He was surrounded by a swirl of black and white. The black and whites described the world. I retrieved a newspaper from the tin colored shelves. The man watched me with his bloodshot eyes. He scanned my movements and eyed the paper. I obtained a dollar from my denim pocket and obscured the legal ownage of the paper. The vendor became less tense after a few moments. The miseries of his life were painted across his body. The hues of sadness and difference spewed across a canvas intertwining with the diverse colors of his life.

I entered the park following the push of a light breeze. My breath was set at an even pace, almost matching the swiftness of my feet. The fresh scent of flowers was carried throughout the area. Children danced in the park, twirling to the absent music. Lovers were cudling underneath the shade of the brawny oak trees, where the leaves sang with joy as the wind tickled them.

The rotting wood of the lonesome bench pressed against my body as I sat. The metal armrest was chilly as the hot sun streamed on me. The view enclosed a pond. The pond carried the weight of boats. Petals fell gently on the surface of the pond, creating ripples that chased after one another. Ducks marched one by one like soldiers, standing tall and looking focused. Trees surrounded me. Countless of them were engraved with the imprints of lost lovers trying to keep the evidence of their love alive. The skyscarapers were distant, but visible in the background. They stood above the picturesque scene, but failed to steal its beauty.

My eyes read the words printed on the grey paper. My mind absorbed the material, whether it was meaningful or meaningless. I closed my eyes as I sat on the park bench surrounded by nature's gifts. I was disturbed from my tranquility from a giggling. My eyes opened in response to the blissful reverberation. A woman sat with her back to me, with the hue of her red dress burning bright. She was the brightest thing I saw at that moment. Although her backside was the only part of her in my view, I knew she was a beautiful woman. The woman's brown, wavy hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall. She was completely alone yet she was laughing and blithe. She had a youthful laugh that carried its own melody. The sight of her flared the fireworks internally. The dim atmosphere that cloaked the awaiting sparks bursted with vast colors.

My mind was an open map now. It did not know where to go, but withheld vast places to venture. In the world, many take life for granted. They stress about looking right and fitting in with society. The human race upholds high expectations for ourselves. Humans fight so many wars and go nowhere. Individuals often stand in the past and wandering to the future, forgetting about the now. The girl with the red dress reminded me of how fragile life is. She sat under the world's many pressures amused, being carefree. That beauty is hard to find. The flourishing society concerns itself with status and judgements of others. They please the outside world, forgetting to please themselves. With the sight of that red shining female, it assured me I was not alone.

I looked down at my art piece in progress. I had painted a girl consumed by a meadow of red flowers. I was sure that the red flowers would continue to bloom in this black and white world. The colors of the world are bound to return.


End file.
